


to days gone by

by my_little_prongsies



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Established Relationship, Fluff and Angst, M/M, Panic Attacks, Please read the notes before reading, Protests, more implied than actual, police brutality kind of
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-28
Updated: 2020-03-28
Packaged: 2021-03-01 03:48:57
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,415
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23358799
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/my_little_prongsies/pseuds/my_little_prongsies
Summary: The crowd swarms around Grantaire, pulsing as one to Enjolras’ voice from where he stands on the makeshift podium, tall and proud, his face showing the slightest smile as he scans the crowd. He lets out a cheer, raising his fist into the air and Grantaire winces as the bodies around him surge forward, responding eagerly.A protest gone wrong and a distraught Grantaire.
Relationships: Enjolras/Grantaire (Les Misérables), Minor or Background Relationship(s), i'm not gonna tag them because they're of little significance and some are up to interpretation so
Comments: 10
Kudos: 103





	to days gone by

**Author's Note:**

> So, basically, I spent all of yesterday watching all of the versions of drink with me I could find to see which one was the best portrayal of Enj and R in them because I have too much time on my hands, and I noticed that quite a lot of fics characterise Enj as a lot more mellow than he is in the musical (based off converting from revolutionary Paris to modern day, and I do this too in my other fics) and while I know there are lots of fics out there where Enj is the marble statue, I wanted to try my own hand at it. Particularly how he's portrayed in the musical, where he's the strong, fearless leader but also cares greatly for his friends, and especially R, which is a dynamic I don't often see (once again, I know it's there, just not as much as i'd like I guess). Also, I really wanted to explore R's cynicism during a similar situation to that of the barricade? Because he cares for his friends and Enj so much and would follow them anywhere, even when he knows it's not going to work, which I think is beautiful.  
> Essentially, I have a lot of feelings about these characters and it has translated into this modern day version of drink with me (hopefully).
> 
> Warning: there is detail of a panic attack during this, based off my own experiences, and I don't know how well it's come off because I haven't written much and prefer dialogue to description. All is well in the end but please be wary if you don't like reading about them. 
> 
> Enjoy!

The crowd swarms around Grantaire, pulsing as one to Enjolras’ voice from where he stands on the makeshift podium, tall and proud, his face showing the slightest smile as he scans the crowd. He lets out a cheer, raising his fist into the air and Grantaire winces as the bodies around him surge forward, responding eagerly. Courfeyrac, who is standing next to Enjolras, the centre, catches his eye and sends him a wink.

All of the members of Les Amis are spread across the square, each with their own job. Combeferre scurrying behind the podium, organising the speakers; Bahorel standing just to the side of the podium, keeping an eye out for trouble; Joly, Bossuet and Musichetta handing out fliers and signs that they had all collectively worked on the past week; Grantaire, Jehan, Éponine and Cosette dispersed within the crowd and tasked to report back; Marius and Feuilly filming the whole event (despite Grantaire’s photography expertise, he was not trusted with filming anything other than Enjolras); and, of course, Enjolras at the centre of it all, just where he wanted to be and exactly where Grantaire did _not_ want him to be.

They had argued relentlessly about this for the past month. Enjolras insisting that now was the right time to stage this protest because there was a large meeting with executive members of petrol companies, which means they’re all in the one place which “never happens, R, we can’t waste this opportunity”. Grantaire maintains that it was too _soon_. That the police were still mad over their last altercation that ended with Enjolras and Courfeyrac arrested and Jehan left with bruises that lasted for over a week.

Enjolras lets out another roar, warlike, and the crowd roars back, loud and untamed. There’s a line of police officers between the crowd and the building where the meeting is being held, people pressing closer and closer to them. Grantaire eyes the police, some atop horses, all with faces of grim determination, ready to retaliate as soon as the crowd gives them the opportunity.

“Let us not be afraid,” Enjolras says, the crowd quietening enough so he can be heard through the speakers they had set up earlier. “Of this feeble demonstration of power behind us. We cannot let them win, cannot let them overpower our voice. As one we can rise above them and make sure we are heard. Damn their warnings, damn their lies! The only way to make this world a better place is to be as one!”

Grantaire groans (internally because he is well aware of how that groan would be perceived by the buzzing throng around him and he did not want to be the cause of the inevitable fight that was to occur). Enjolras was straying from the script. The one that the both of them, along with Combeferre, had worked tirelessly on, spending endless nights perfecting and finetuning, Grantaire playing his favourite role of cynic, making sure that Enjolras didn’t incite anything other than camaraderie and hope.

Grantaire felt a firm tug on his elbow and Éponine appeared beside him, her mouth a flat line. “I don’t feel good about this,” she mutters into his ear.

Grantaire nods, stuffing his hands into the pockets of his (Enjolras’) jacket. He scans the crowd again, spotting Jehan and Cosette, concern flooding their faces. The mass of people surge forward again, pushing him and Éponine, voices getting louder and louder around them. “We need to get out of here,” he finally responds, raising his voice just to be heard.

Éponine grips his hand and starts tearing through the crowd towards the podium, Grantaire following. They make it there and Grantaire catches Enjolras’ eye for a moment, Enjolras narrowing his eyebrows slightly, the only acknowledgement as he continues his rhetoric. Éponine makes headway for Combeferre, stopping in front of him, arms crossed. Combeferre gives them a quizzical look at first, his phone to his ear, although Grantaire doesn’t know how he can hear anything over the noise, before hurriedly saying goodbye to whoever is on the other side and hanging up, pocketing his phone.

“What is it?” he says, looking over at Enjolras and Courfeyrac quickly, then back at Éponine.

“It’s too much,” Éponine says. She glances at Grantaire. “I thought you approved the speech,” she says to both of them.

“Ange has learnt the art of improvisation, it seems,” Grantaire says, far less calm than he’s trying to appear (emphasis on trying, Éponine and Combeferre know him way to well to think that he’s actually relaxed).

“Don’t be smart,” Éponine glares at him, turning back to Combeferre, making it clear she wants to sort this predicament without sarcasm. “What do we do?”

Combeferre fiddles with his glasses, scanning the crowd. “We need to tell everyone. I’ll talk to Courf and Bahorel, you guys send out a text and start finding everyone. Don’t split up.” He looks at them when he says the last part, giving them a look that means they can’t refuse.

Éponine nods, taking Grantaire’s hand again and starts pulling him back towards the crowd. He looks over at Enjolras again, who is now leading a chant, wanting to stay beside his side. Éponine tugs his hand, saying, “He’s fine. Bahorel is right next to him.”

Grantaire nods, knowing she’s right, and they continue into the crowd, Combeferre making his way towards the podium. They have just pushed through the throng of people, heading towards where Joly, Bossuet and Musichetta are standing, when Grantaire spots something flying in the sky. He tracks it, a small rock, as it flies across the crowd and crashes into the plastic barrier of one of the policemen. The impact makes a horrifying thwack and it’s silent for a moment, one quiet moment, before all hell breaks loose.

The crowd starts clamouring, rushing every which way, some towards the line of police officers, others in the opposite direction. Grantaire spots Enjolras’ horrified face for a second before someone pushes him from behind and he stumbles forward, gripping hard onto Éponine’s hand. They scramble through the mass crushing in on them and Grantaire can barely make out anything around him, his breaths coming out short and sharp, the noise surrounding him deafening. He focuses on Éponine’s hand, knowing she’ll be able to get them out of there.

Finally, after what seems like forever, they are free, hidden down a small alleyway, which Grantaire belatedly realises is the designated meeting spot for a situation just like this. Joly, Bossuet and Musichetta are all there, although Bossuet’s forehead is bleeding and Grantaire gapes at it. His hand is still in Éponine’s, sweaty.

Musichetta takes one look at Grantaire and steps in front of him, placing a hand on his shoulder. “Come on, R,” she says softly and Grantaire looks away from where Joly is fussing over Bossuet to her face, warm and kind. “I need you to breathe for me, love. In and out, in and out.” She says this slowly, motioning along with her hand and Grantaire tries to focus on the sound of her voice rather than commotion behind them.

“Do we know where anyone else is?” he hears Éponine ask Joly and Bossuet and feels the panic build inside him more and more. He starts to speak, he doesn’t know what, but it becomes stuck in his throat.

Musichetta runs a hand over his hair, pulling them away from the others. “In and out, R, in and out. Come on.”

Grantaire closes his eyes, concentrating on her voice and her hand. He takes a deep breath in, holding it and then releasing it slowly.

“Good job, R, again,” Musichetta murmurs.

He continues to count through his breathing until he can finally feel sense start to come back to him. He slowly opens his eyes and Musichetta smiles brightly at him.

Others have arrived since he closed his eyes. Cosette is hugging Éponine tightly, Marius standing next to him, checking over his camera, and Jehan leans slightly into Feuilly, both of them hurriedly texting. Grantaire shoots a beseeching look to Musichetta, who nods.

“We’re looking for them, okay?” she says and her faces pinches. “But we need to get out of here. We can’t be found here.”

Grantaire starts shaking his head. “No. No way, we can’t leave without them.”

“Grantaire,” a voice says beside him and Joly is there, Bossuet too, a bandage covering his wound. “If they find us here, we’ll all be arrested. Enj wouldn’t want that—he would want you to be safe.”

“And I want him to be safe!” Grantaire distantly recognises that his voice is rising and Musichetta’s hand is back on his shoulder, squeezing. “And I can’t know that unless I see him—unless he is here in front of me, which means I’m not leaving.”

Joly shares a look with Bossuet and Musichetta and Grantaire can see the conversation pass between them. “Okay,” Musichetta says after a few moments, “you can stay here with Feuilly for five minutes, tops, then you have to leave. We’re going to get everyone out of here because if all of us are arrested we’ll never make bail.” She hugs him, squeezing hard, releases him and then pulls on Joly and Bossuet’s hands, walking over to everyone else.

Éponine comes over to him when everyone bar Feuilly starts walking down the alleyway. “Five minutes, okay?” she says sternly. “Then you get out of here.”

Grantaire nods and she kisses his cheek, turning to catch up with the others.

Feuilly stands next to him, silent, tapping away at his phone, concentration clear across his face. He has always had the ability to tell exactly what someone needs and Grantaire is thankful, unable to hold a conversation in that moment.

After a couple of minutes, Grantaire can feel the panic continue to rise in him. It’s still crazy outside the alleyway, a mass of bodies running everywhere, screaming and shouting. Grantaire’s steps on his toes and can see that the horses have invaded the crowd, marching through people carelessly.

Feuilly catches his sleeve, pulling him out of view of the court. “That’s not helping,” he hums, still typing away.

“It’s not _not_ helping,” Grantaire argues, petulantly. “At least I have an idea of what’s going on.”

“Which you will dramatize into the worst possible scenario,” Feuilly replies, giving him a pointed look. He checks the time on his phone. “We’ll leave in a minute.”

Grantaire grinds his teeth, knowing it was useless to argue, and just crosses his arm, staring at what little he can see of the crowd, people blurring into one as the hurry past, a few escaping down the alleyway.

“Let’s go,” Feuilly eventually says, gentle, and starts walking, pulling Grantaire along. He allows himself to be dragged, his breathe caught in his throat because _Enjolras is still out there and they’re just leaving_.

Footsteps start pounding behind them and Grantaire’s brain does what it does best and imagines the worst, of police officers chasing them, batons and horses, the whole shebang. He quickens his pace, Feuilly doing the same.

“Grantaire!” A voice calls. Not just any voice, _Enjolras_. He slams to a stop and turns, seeing Enjolras, Combeferre, Courfeyrac and Bahorel racing towards them. His heart stops, Enjolras is limping, his face bloody, but he’s here, finally.

“What are you still doing here?” Enjolras asks, coming to a stop. Combeferre glances over his shoulder, hand tightly clutching Courfeyrac’s. “Why didn’t you leave?”

Grantaire stares, flabbergasted. Is that really the most important question right now?

Enjolras doesn’t wait for a reply, just grabs his hand and starts running, talking to Feuilly. “Is everyone else out?”

“Yes,” Feuilly replies.

“Have they made it to our apartment yet?” Enjolras and Combeferre’s apartment was the closest safehouse, the one they had decided they should all meet at afterwards, the Musain being too obvious.

“They should be there any minute. They left about five minutes ago.”

“Without you guys,” Enjolras growls, leading them through a series of alleyways.

Feuilly shrugs. “Grantaire refused to leave.”

Enjolras squeezes his hand, clearly mad at him, but has more important things to worry about right now.

“I wasn’t going to leave without you,” Grantaire says quietly, looking over at Enjolras, who looks back at him, eyes narrowed and hard.

They walk in silence from then and even though their safe and Enjolras is _there_ , right in front of him, Grantaire’s body still feels as though it’s on fire. He can’t take a full breath inbetween each step that they take, running towards the apartment, seeing Enjolras limp and limp and limp out of the corner of his eye.

Courfeyrac steps up next to him and gives him a smile, making it clear he can tell what’s happening. “We’re nearly there,” he says, which is true, Grantaire can see their building just ahead.

When they make it there, they race up the stairs, everyone else already inside having used the spare key from where it’s hidden at the end of the hallway. Enjolras lets the others go in before them, pulling Grantaire behind for a moment.

“Are you okay?” he asks.

Grantaire lets out a shaky breath, staring at the blood on Enjolras’ face. “Not really.”

Enjolras cups his face with one hand, the other around his waist, pulling them close. “We just need to debrief and then we can hide away in my room, okay? We’ll kick everyone out.”

They share a small smile, but despite everything, he still can’t calm down. He can’t get the image of that rock flying through the air out of his head, the feel of hundreds of people pushing in on him, the fear of not knowing where Enjolras is, the blood running down his face.

Enjolras walks into the apartment and Grantaire follows, finding a spot on the floor in between everyone, in front of the couch where Courfeyrac is sitting, who immediately puts a hand is hair, playing with his curls. He feels an inch of himself relax.

Enjolras and Combeferre stand in front of them, talking through the events. Someone has handed Enjolras a cloth, which he is gingerly wiping his face with as he talks, undeterred.

Grantaire’s focus weaves in and out, paying more attention to the sound of Enjolras’ voice rather than what he is actually saying. He finally feels the tension leave his body, thanks to Courfeyrac, and sinks back into the couch, resting his head on Courfeyrac’s knee.

Grantaire tunes back in as Enjolras is saying, “We can’t stop now, this is just the first step, which has shown us that we have support and can push them further,” and he can’t help his mouth from falling open.

“You’re kidding,” he hears himself say and the room falls silent.

“Grantaire?” Enjolras asks, putting down the cloth. “What do you mean?”

“You can’t just—just go back out there,” he says, motioning a hand to the window. “Have you already forgotten what happened? We can’t push them any more!”

“If we stop now, it will have been for nothing,” Enjolras argues, all angelic beauty and glory. “We can’t show them that we’re afraid, that we’ll back down at little bit of violence.”

“You’re bleeding!” he cries.

“It’s just a scratch,” Enjolras shrugs.

“How am I supposed to know that? When you’re limping and there were people everywhere and rocks being thrown and horses going crazy and I couldn’t hear anything!” He squeezes his eyes shut, but doesn’t stop talking, it all pouring out of him, voice getting louder and louder as he pulls his knees into his chest. “We can’t antagonise them again, it will only get worse and we’ll all end up dead, you’ll end up dead, and I just can’t have that because if you’re dead what’s even the point—”

There are hands on either side of his face and a soft voice saying, “Hey, hey, hey, it’s alright. I’m here, okay, right here.”

He opens his eyes again and Enjolras fills his vision, kneeling in front of him. He feels a pat on his head as Courfeyrac climbs past him, following everyone else out of the room.

He looks into Enjolras’ eyes, soft, the antithesis to their cold fury from moments ago. “I’m not going anywhere, R, you don’t have to worry.”

“You can’t control that,” Grantaire says, sagging back into the couch, “because I know you and you’re not going to stop, which is the bane of my existence, but also why I love you and I’m just scared, Ange. So, so scared.”

Enjolras brings his hands down to his neck, pulling their foreheads together. Grantaire relaxes into him, his own hand reaching out to touch Enjolras’ chest, feeling his racing heartbeat beneath his shirt. “R, I—” Enjolras says, voice loud enough just for them to hear, “No, I’m not going to stop, but I swear to you, I’m not going to put myself in danger. I didn’t today and I won’t in the future. As soon as that rock was thrown, I was off the podium. I didn’t leave Bahorel’s side and we got out of there as fast as we could.”

Grantaire nods, tears sliding down his cheek. Enjolras pulls back, his thump wiping them away. “Look at me, R.”

Grantaire does, seeing that Enjolras’ eyes are red, filling with his own tears.

Enjolras continues. “A couple of years ago, I wouldn’t have done that. I would have stayed up on the podium or have marched right towards the police because that was the most important thing in my life. But, it’s not any more, R, because you came into my life and changed it and now, I can’t imagine life without you. I used to be entirely devoted to making this world better, but what’s the point of a better world without someone to share it with. And that’s you, R. You were all I could think about and that’s why I was mad when I saw you, because you were still there and able to get hurt and I couldn’t stand the thought of that.”

Grantaire lets out a chuckle when Enjolras stops talking. “That was poetic.”

A smile flitters across Enjolras’ face as he sits down properly next to Grantaire, throwing an arm around his shoulders. Grantaire curls in towards him. “I was being serious,” Enjolras says, mouth pressed against his head. “I love you. Like, an unhealthy amount.”

Grantaire reaches a hand across Enjolras’ stomach, hugging him. “Well, I’m pretty sure I made it obvious I feel the same,” he mutters and feels a rumble against him as Enjolras laughs.

“Are we good to come back in?” Courfeyrac’s voice sounds from the kitchen and Grantaire looks over to see multiple heads sticking through the doorway. He laughs some more, resting his head on Enjolras’ chest.

“Yep,” Enjolras says. “All good.”

“Thank god,” Bahorel says, pushing his way through everyone, “You’re kitchen is fucking small, man, and I know we were trying to be considerate and all but that was not enjoyable.” He lightly kicks Grantaire on his way past with a smirk, Bahorel’s way of checking that he’s okay. Grantaire lifts his head up, grinning back.

Courfeyrac climbs back over the two of them onto the couch, cooing, “You guys are just the most adorable thing ever.”

“You can hardly talk,” Enjolras says, rolling his eyes and motioning to Combeferre, who at that moment leans down from behind Courfeyrac to kiss him on the cheek, oblivious to their conversation.

Courfeyrac just hums, reaching a hand behind him to catch Combeferre’s and giving Enjolras a shit-eating grin.

“So,” Combeferre says, and Grantaire rests his head against Enjolras again, who brings a hand up to start playing with his hair. “I’m guessing that’s enough for tonight. We can go through everything on Monday’s meeting. I was thinking we could put a movie on, if people want to stay?”

There’s some commotion as everyone starts calling out the movie that they wanted to watch and it ends with Éponine sitting on top of Joly and Mulan on the screen. While Feuilly and Combeferre go to the kitchen to get popcorn and copious amounts of tea, everyone falls into an easy conversation with one another that washes calmly over Grantaire.

When the movie begins, he burrows further into Enjolras, his body jelly-like, takes a deep breathe (because he finally can) and closes his eyes, falling fast asleep in a matter of moments.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! This was written in a day and I'm quite proud of it, even though I'll probably hate it in a couple of weeks because that's how I work. Please leave kudos and a comment because I'm really interested to see how people like this. I feel like it's kind of rushed at the end? But that could because i'm way too self-critical and also used to writing longer things, idk.
> 
> Also, in case you can't tell, I, and therefore R, find it very calming when someone pats my head like a cat.


End file.
